


Past and Future King

by MediocreServant_aka_SirSimsalot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Boys Kissing, Canon Era, Everybody Lives, Everyone Loves Merlin (Merlin), Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Morgana and Mordred are off somewhere living their best lives, Time Travel, Trans Character, no beta we die like variously gendered people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreServant_aka_SirSimsalot/pseuds/MediocreServant_aka_SirSimsalot
Summary: Newly-crowned King Arthur goes forward in time, where he meets the Merlin of the future. What does he learn there, and how will he get back to his own time?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 92
Kudos: 293





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I've been writing this one for a while now! I was hesitant to post because it isn't finished yet, but I figured maybe having input from comments and a sort of self-deadline would put some fire under my ass. I have a few chapters written, though. Hope you all like, and let me know what you think!

The king of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, is laying asleep in his royal bed, covered by a thick red coverlet and soft sheets. It's well after dawn when his manservant pushes open the heavy door, laden with a tray filled with his royal highness' breakfast in his hands. The tall, dark-haired man nearly makes it to the table with the meal when his foot catches on the stone floor, causing the tray to falter as he clumsily catches himself. It lands noisily on the surface of the wooden table with a low clang.

Merlin cringes, glancing over to the bed, but his master merely shifts his body and mumbles in his sleep, rubbing his face deeper into his pillow before settling again. The servant gives a small sigh of relief and starts with his morning tasks before waking the king.

First, Merlin walks over to the large fireplace, clearing the ash from the previous day. Although it is now Spring, there is still a chill in the air in the early morning. Piling new logs in the hearth from the woodpile, he peers over at the bed again. Seeing no movement, he reaches his hand out towards the wood and whispers, “ _Forbearnan_.” A fire immediately leaps up and begins to heat the king's large chambers. Merlin leans back on his heels for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before he pushes himself off the floor and dusts off his knees.

Next, he goes over to the large ornate wardrobe to begin picking out Arthur's outfit for the day. He pulls out a pair of dark trousers and lays it over the dressing screen, then returns and briefly debates what tunic for his king to wear. Red or white? He thinks that Arthur really needs to expand his wardrobe. Would it kill him to wear blue? Making his decision, a white tunic joins the trousers over the screen. It takes just another moment to add socks and smallclothes, and then the task is done.

Moving over to the large window, Merlin takes hold of the curtain. He pauses to behold his king. Arthur's face is lax with sleep, with none of the tension he carries through the day when fully aware of the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders. His golden hair is rumpled with sleep, and his nearly-white lashes rest softly on his cheeks. Merlin smiles fondly at the sight, taking it in for almost a full minute. His heart swells with affection. Then, he swiftly rips the curtain back, flooding the room (and Arthur's face) with the bright morning sun.

“Rise and shine, sire!” Merlin exclaims loudly. “Time to start the day!”

“Urgh. Merlin...” The blonde groans, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

“Now, now, your highness,” Merlin chides. “Mustn't laze about!”

The servant strides over to the bed and grabs the bedclothes, beginning to pull them away. Anticipating this, Arthur grips them, trying to pull the blanket back over himself. Merlin, taking advantage of the other's half-asleep state, yanks it away, leaving the blonde bared to the cold morning air.

“ _Merlin_!” Arthur complains.

“ _Arthur_!” Merlin replies, the smirk in his voice clear to the king.

“I'll have you in the stocks for this.” Arthur threatens.

“I'm sure you will, my lord.” Merlin soothes, pulling his master out of his bed.

They fall into their routine, Merlin helping his king get dressed. As the servant is fastening the leather belt around his waist, Arthur says, “I was thinking—”

“Oh, sire, you know how dangerous that is.” Merlin interrupts cheekily.

Arthur gives him a half-hearted glare and continues. “I was thinking, _Mer_ lin, that now that I'm king, some things need to change.”

Merlin's heart skips a beat. Is Arthur considering repealing the ban on magic? No, he couldn't be. Arthur thinks that his father was killed by magic, so that couldn't possibly be it. Thanks to his own failure, Arthur's hate of sorcery is stronger than ever before. At his rate, magic will never return to the land, and the dream of a united Albion will never happen. Merlin pulls himself out of his reverie to find that Arthur is still speaking.

“—and the guards. They need better training. We've snuck about enough times, and they've never caught us. The security of the castle is paramount, and we can't have any weaknesses, any chinks in the armor, so to speak.” he asserts.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Merlin agrees, though his heart raps in his chest again at the thought. He's stolen around the castle much more than Arthur has, protecting him from magical and mundane threats alike. It would be best if the security of the castle is increased, but if he can't evade the guards, how is he supposed to keep his king safe?

Arthur notices a strange look on his face as he says this. Merlin almost seems alarmed. Is he imagining the expression on his friend's—no, his _servant's—_ face? No, it must be a trick of the light. What does Merlin have to fear? Other than baby deer and bunny rabbits, of course. Arthur dismisses the thought, and chalks it up to Merlin being an idiot, as usual.

“Another thing I want to do,” he continues, “Is to catalog the vaults.”

“Why is that Arthur?” Merlin questions, curious. “You've never seemed interested in them before.”

“Because, _Mer_ lin, there may be treasures that we don't know about. Treasures that may be helpful for Camelot. Things just get tossed down there and are forgotten to time. Who knows what could be down there?”

Arthur has another reason to search the depths of the strong rooms. He thinks about sharing this with his servant, but fears his judgment. He hates being vulnerable, being seen as weak. But this is Merlin, isn't it? Merlin has always supported him in the past, has been oddly wise at times. No, Merlin wouldn't think any less of him. He takes a breath, deciding to reveal his ulterior motive.

“There's another reason.” He says quietly. Merlin's eyes sharpen, sensing the solemnity in Arthur's words. He's about to say something important. He searches his friend's face.

“I've heard...” the king hesitates, steeling himself. His brows furrow. “Well, I've heard that there may be portraits of my mother. I hope to find them.” His voice has gone low, and there is a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Oh, Arthur...” Merlin breathes. Arthur stiffens. He doesn't want Merlin's pity. Pity is the last thing he wants. But Merlin isn't done.

“I understand.” Merlin goes on to say. “If I could have something to remind me of my father...” He has a pained look on his face. “Well, I'd do almost anything for that.” he finishes quietly.

Arthur relaxes. Of course Merlin understands. Merlin knows him better than anyone, and they share the fact that each one of them is missing a parent. Arthur's mother died in childbirth, giving her life for his. Merlin had also never known his father, leaving his mother Hunith to raise him on her own in the small village of Ealdor. Unlike his own father, Uther, who raised him with a hard hand and an even harder heart, Hunith is loving and kind. She raised her son to be the same. Arthur himself had even experienced her kindness. She's treated him like another son, hugging him in a way that she felt like the mother he never had.

Still, Arthur feels exposed. He coughs, clearing the lump in his throat and gathering himself.

“Alright, Merlin.” He recovers. “What is my schedule for the day?”

Merlin knows the moment is over. Arthur has bared himself, and Merlin treasures that; he knows Arthur trusts him. He winces slightly. He trusts Arthur too, trusts him with his life. _Well, not entirely,_ he thinks. He hasn't trusted Arthur with the secret of his magic, of the destiny they share. Of the prophecy. The dragon Kilgharrah says that Arthur could never hate him, that he and Arthur are 'two halves of a whole', but Merlin is afraid. He's afraid of Arthur's anger, and that he'll never trust him again when he finds out that Merlin is a sorcerer, a warlock. That he was born with magic and never told his king, his closest friend. He shakes off the thought.

“Well,” he says briskly. “You've got training with the knights, then a council meeting, and then hearings with the public this afternoon.”

At the last, Arthur grimaces. He doesn't want to hear about another conflict between two farmers over a chicken or a goat, or from lords who are squabbling about the borders of their lands when the only difference is a league or two. Merlin knows this, and grins.

Arthur sits down for his breakfast, pleased to note that there's sausages and pickled eggs with his bread, fruit, and cheese. Merlin knows that pickled eggs are his favorite, and manages to get them onto his plate with a startling frequency. He pretends not to notice when Merlin filches some of the food. The boy is so thin that a stiff wind could blow him over. Is his friend—his servant, he corrects himself—not getting enough to eat? He finishes his breakfast in comfortable silence as Merlin putters about his chambers, picking up the laundry that Arthur had carelessly thrown to the floor and otherwise setting the room to right.

Seeing that Arthur has completed his meal, Merlin gathers everything onto the tray to later return to the kitchens. Then he turns to Arthur and smiles widely.

“Come on sire,” he says cheerfully, “Let's get you into your armor.”

“I'm the king, Merlin.” Arthur retorts automatically. “You can't tell me what to do.”

“Of course, my lord” Merlin quips, bowing mockingly. “I'd never think of it. Now up you get!”

***

The morning has been brisk, leaving Merlin shivering in his overlarge brown jacket and threadbare tunic as he carried Arthur's arms onto the training fields. He's tripped and almost fallen on the cobblestones on the way from the armoury at least twice before finally making it there and dumping them in a pile by the bench with a grunt. Even if he is stronger than his thin profile might suggest, those weapons were _heavy_.

As he sharpens the spare swords, Merlin watches as his master puts the men through their paces, admiring his confidence and his strong hard physique and his fair hair shining in the sun, despite the somewhat cloudy skies. Merlin's mind wanders. Arthur's body is something he's intimately familiar with, although not in the way that he'd like. He dresses the king and prepares his baths, even washes his back and hair while trying not to look too closely into the water, lest his own body betrays his licentious thoughts towards his king. He can't always help himself, though, and in those instances he's grateful for his long, loose tunics.

The whetstone has stilled in his hand without him realizing it.

“Alright there, Merlin? Something on your mind?” Gwaine interrupts his dreaming, clapping a hand on his back and causing the servant to jump. He waggles his eyebrows. “Or in your sights?” he suggests slyly, following in the direction that Merlin had been gazing; right at Arthur. “What?” Merlin chokes, dropping the sword that he had been failing to sharpen. “No! I was just—I mean—I wasn't—it's not—” he stutters. The roguish knight slings an arm over his shoulder and leans into his ear. “It's alright, Merlin.” he reassures, almost purring. “I don't blame you for looking. The Princess is pretty, ain't he?”

He was, Merlin agreed silently. Although up against Percival, quite a large man with tons of power in his strokes, Arthur doesn't even seem to be tiring. He's moving with strength and grace, almost as if in a dance. Merlin gets caught up in the sight once again.

Gwaine's breath ghosts Merlin's ear and his stubble tickles Merlin's cheek, inducing him to squirm. “Good enough to eat, eh?” Merlin reddens, and Gwaine pulls him closer conspiratorially. “Looks like he's noticed you too.” Gwaine was right; the king had stopped his sparring match with Sir Percival and is now glaring in their direction.

“Sir Gwaine!” Arthur barks. “If you have enough time to harass my manservant, then you have enough time to do laps! Hop to it!”

“No problem, Princess!” The long-haired knight shouts back, flipping his long locks over his shoulder. He ruffles Merlin's hair, and snickers. “Can't have Her Royal Highness up in a huff, can we? Later, Merlin!” He winks at his friend and then waves as he heads away to follow the king's orders. Merlin doesn't envy him; running around all day doing chores for Arthur is hard enough. Running around a field in chainmail must be tantamount to torture.

“And you,” Arthur starts as he treads in Merlin's direction. “If you've got the time to flirt with my knights, _Mer_ lin, then you have time to help with training.” Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur isn't hearing any of it. He grabs a large shield and tosses it at the servant. Merlin fumbles in catching it, and the shield lands on the ground before he retrieves it clumsily, heaving a resigned sigh. It's time to play the practice dummy. Again. A vindictive grin crosses Arthur's face.

“We'll start with maces, shall we?”

Merlin groans. He lifts up the shield and widens his stance, preparing to be pummeled.

Arthur grabs a mace from the pile of weapons that his manservant had deposited earlier by the bench, and begins to spin it in his firm grip almost leisurely. He approaches Merlin slowly, taking his time. Suddenly, without warning, he leaps forward and slams the spiked head of the mace down at his target. Merlin stumbles, but keeps his footing. He raises the shield again, tensing his muscles in hope that he can offer better resistance. Arthur continues to bash the shield relentlessly, Merlin ducking his head and cowering behind it as he does his best to stay upright. It seems to go on almost forever. Finally, Arthur gives one last powerful swing, causing Merlin to crash backwards onto the ground.

Merlin lays there in the grass, trying to catch his breath, as Arthur comes over and hovers above him, smirking. Merlin wants to glare at him but can't seem to gather up the energy for it, so he just peers tiredly through half-lidded eyes. The king's hair is plastered on his forehead, darkened with sweat, as he looks down smugly at his manservant, arms crossed. _Gods, Arthur is beautiful._ Merlin thinks through his daze . He doesn't voice this, though; of course not. Instead he grumbles, “Prat,” unable to keep the affection out of his voice even now.

“Now, Merlin, is that any way to speak to your king?” Arthur remarks haughtily, but leans down and offers him a hand anyway. Merlin takes it and is pulled up off the ground quickly, and has to steady himself on Arthur's arm as his head catches up with his body. “It is if it's true. Cabbagehead.” Arthur merely raises one blonde eyebrow at him, but Merlin can see that he's trying not to let his lips curl up. He claps Merlin hard on the back, causing him to stumble, then turns.

“Alright you lot!” He calls to the assembled men. “Take a break!” Merlin takes this as his cue to grab a bucket to dole out water to the knights. They gather around him, quenching their thirst. Lancelot smiles gently and thanks him, asking, “Arthur's not working you too hard I hope, Merlin?”

“The day he doesn't work me to the bone is the day I'll start to worry that he's enchanted again,” Merlin replies with a crooked grin. “I haven't gotten a day off since...” He cocks his head. “Well, when have I ever gotten a day off?” The knights around him laugh. They know that Arthur and Merlin are nigh inseparable; it's rare to see the king without his servant by his side. If Merlin isn't with Arthur, then he's doing chores and running errands for him or gathering herbs for Gaius, the Court Physician.

“How about those days when you're in the tavern, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur says. “Those are days off enough.” Merlin glares at him balefully, and the knights laughed again.

What Arthur doesn't know is that Merlin never goes to the tavern. Gaius was the one to offer the excuse when Merlin was busy preventing an assassination or foiling an evil plot with his magic. _'He's in the tavern'_ and _'Have you tried the tavern, sire?'_ It's stuck ever since. Merlin can't even hold his liquor; one day Arthur will see him drunk in his cups and he'll know that the stories of the tavern could never have been true.

After another hour or so, Arthur ends the training session and all the knights clear off the field. He takes pity on Merlin and excuses him from bringing back the weapons and gear, but covers up his mercy by calling him pathetic and hopeless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council session goes fantastically well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha I said I wrote the first few chapters, but I wrote this one and pushed the other ones back. I think I may do that for the next one, too.

Arthur has his listening face on, but that's exactly what he isn't doing, Merlin can tell. Lord Edward is talking about grain count down to the last bushel and sack, and that's right after Lord Michel had gone on about cattle count, including breeding and births. Though, Merlin had to admit, the three-eared calf had sounded rather interesting.

Merlin himself is actually paying attention—well, as much as one could pay attention to such dry subject matter. He needs to let Arthur know what has been talked about, later. When the Lord Edward finishes his report, the room becomes quiet, and the Council looks uncomfortable about something. Merlin leans over to fill Arthur's goblet, which is already full, and nudges the absent-minded king with his elbow.

Arthur blinks, roused from his daydream about absconding off to farm with Merlin and leaving all this tedium behind. He abruptly becomes aware of the atmosphere in the room and straightens up in his seat. He clears his throat. “Are there any other matters to discuss before we adjourn?” he asks, knowing full well there is something that is being left unsaid.

The counselors look at each other, having conversations with their expressions. Merlin watches them, and they are clearly saying to each other _'You go.'_ , _'No, you!'_ , _'No, you, I must insist!'_

Arthur seems to notice the silent conversation as well and raises his brow, gesturing to one of the men. “Lord Calvin. You seem to have something you want to say.” The man in question reddens at being called out. He glances around at his fellow councilors, but they just look relieved at not having to be the ones to speak, and look away from him. He stands, flattening his coat nervously.

“My Lord—Your Highness. We—I and many of the Council, that is—have become concerned.” he stammers.

Arthur narrows his eyes, having a suspicion as to where this is going. “And what are your...concerns, Lord Calvin?”

The councilor takes a visible swallow and licks his lips before he says, “Your Majesty, we are concerned about the line of succession. Many princesses and Ladies have been presented to you, My Lord, yet it seems none have caught your interest. We were wondering why that is, Your Highness.” By the end of his explanation, Lord Calvin has started to sweat, so he takes a kerchief and wipes his brow with a shaky hand.

The room seems to be holding it's breath, including Merlin, who is watching Arthur's face carefully. To anyone else, Arthur would appear serious and thoughtful; to Merlin, however, who knew Arthur better than anybody else, Arthur is clearly infuriated. Merlin can see the way Arthur nostrils flare slightly and how the muscle in his jaw twitches minutely, and the way his shoulders are, just barely, tensing up. The servant can't help but mirror his friend as he waits for what his king would say. After a tense silence, Arthur speaks. He sounds perfectly calm, but there is a steel edge in his voice.

“It is not for the Council to be concerned about who I choose to marry, and when I choose to do so. I refuse for a union to be made strictly on the basis of political gains with no consideration of compatibility. Should the right person come along in a month, or in five years, that is when the time will be right.” The king looks around the room, meeting each man's eyes. “Am I understood?” He doesn't wait for any replies before he rises to his feet. “Good. Council adjourned.”

Arthur sweeps out of the room, cape billowing behind him from his long strides, leaving Merlin to hurry to catch up with him. Usually, Merlin would walk beside Arthur, propriety be damned, but this time he follows behind, not wanting to get in his angry king's sights before absolutely necessary.

When Arthur gets to his chambers, he throws the door open and immediately pours himself a goblet of wine, throwing it back. Merlin follows him, nods at the guards stationed outside the door and receives sympathetic grimaces in return. He quietly closes it behind him and waits for the tirade he knows is coming.

Arthur, in the meantime, has refilled the goblet once more and emptied it again. He leans, palms down on the table, eyes tightly shut and gritting his teeth, breathing harshly through his nose. Merlin waits patiently.

Finally, Arthur throws the goblet to the floor and begins stalking around the room. “Can you _believe_ them!? Questioning _my_ choices! About marriage!” He gesticulates wildly, facing Merlin. “ _Marriage_ , Merlin! As if I could force the choice!” Merlin, wisely,stays silent, and Arthur begins pacing. “As if I could force love. This isn't a decision to be taken lightly! I _cannot_ and _will not_ make a choice based on politics with some woman who only wants to gain favor and power!” He stops, breathing hard, head down. Then he looks up at Merlin, who looks back at him, directly in the eyes.

“You understand, don't you, Merlin?” He sounds as if he were pleading—if kings pleaded, that is. 

Merlin finally steps forward, walking to Arthur and laying his hands on his friend's shoulders. “Of  _course_ I understand, Arthur. Marriage is more than a negotiation of power. It's a bond of love.” Merlin's chest hurts at the thought of Arthur loving anyone else, but continues. “Without love, what is a marriage? Simply a business contract. You deserve more than that, Arthur.” he finishes quietly.

Arthur stands taller then, buoyed by Merlin's words. He rests a hand on one of Merlin's, which is still on his own shoulder, and searches Merlin's eyes, as if looking for a lie. Merlin's heart catches in his throat, worried that Arthur will see more than a servant and friend's devotion in him. Finally, Arthur nods. 

“Thank you, Merlin. You can be very wise sometimes.” Arthur suddenly looks uncomfortable and takes a step back. Their hands fall to their sides. “For an idiot, that is.” 

But nothing could take the pleased look off of Merlin's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please share your thoughts about how you think this is going. Kudos are hugs and comments are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petitions aren't quite so boring this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! This chapter turned out entirely different from the way I planned, which changes some elements later in the chapters I already wrote! Aaahhh
> 
> Also, remind me to never again use the present tense when I always write in past tense. I went over the thing so many times, just changing tenses. Forgive me and let me know if there are any mistakes you notice!
> 
> Enjoy!

Arthur and Merlin are heading down the hall to the throne room for the weekly hearings. Although it was often a total bore, Arthur values this time. He considers himself an honorable man, a fair and just man, and he feels grateful for the time he can spend listening to the people of Camelot. If only some of the petitions weren't so _boring_...

“Remember, Arthur,” says Merlin, walking beside the king, “If Lord Emberson says that he needs to expand his lands, he doesn't need to, really. I read the reports. He has more lands than he has people to work them! He's just greedy.”

“Thank you, Merlin, for letting me know how to rule the kingdom. I never would have managed without you.” Arthur says dryly.

“You're welcome!” Merlin chirps. Arthur rolls his eyes.

When he enters the throne room, Merlin towing behind, the room hushes down to murmurs. There is a line waiting. At the front there are the nobles, and behind them are the peasants. Though Arthur values the common people above all else, he knows that the noble people of the court would have to be seen to first, much to his regret. Arthur strides to his throne and settles in it, closing his eyes and gathering himself for the public hearings. Merlin tucks himself against the wall of the throne room, unobtrusive but within Arthur's sight.

Arthur takes a deep, settling breath and opens his eyes, nodding to the nobles to begin.

Lord Evan asks for a break on his taxes due to some issues with bandits that year, and Arthur gives it to him, along with promises of more patrols in that area. A few other lords had young sons to present that they were hoping to become knights, so Arthur arranges for Leon to meet with them all to accept the new squires.

The next, funnily enough, is Lord Emberson. He is a tall, plump man with flaming hair and a blue velvet overcoat. He bows. “Your Highness,” he simpers, “I am honored to be in your royal presence. I am but a humble lord with humble lands, but I feel that I can serve His Majesty better.”

Arthur leans back on his throne, one hand on his chin, stroking it consideringly. “Yes, Lord Emberson? How do you feel you can better serve the crown?” Arthur didn't like this man already, and he was glad that Merlin had warned him.

Lord Emberson bows again, lower this time. “Your Majesty. This humble servant wishes to serve you. I feel that I could best serve you and all of Camelot if I could produce more foodstuffs in the form or crops and cattle. I would be pleased myself if I could please Your Royal Highness.” He looks sorrowful. “If only I had the lands to do so, My Lord...”

Arthur glances at Merlin, and when Merlin sees Arthur looking, the servant rolls his eyes, clearly communicating _'Is this man real?'_ and Arthur presses his lips together to hide their riotous upturned corners. Then he has an idea.

“Merlin,” calls the king. Merlin bolts upright from his relaxed position against the wall and steps forward. “Yes, My Lord?” He is the perfect picture of obedience, Arthur notes with a bit of relief. The better for this play.

Arthur takes on a bored countenance and drawls. “Merlin. How large is Lord Emberson's burgage?” Merlin catches on quickly and smirks slightly before smoothing his face.

“Nine hundreds, your highness.” Six or seven hundreds were more common, so the nobles present and the others of the council become more interested suddenly.

“And the output of those lands, Merlin?” Arthur pulls.

Merlin looks at Lord Emberson, whose face is quickly becoming flushed. “Lord Emberson's nine hundreds have the average output of the lands of Lords Josef and Asher, whose lands are six and seven hundreds, respectively.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” he nods, “That will be all.”

Merlin bows and steps back to his previous position. Arthur turns to look at the angry Lord Emberson. “It seems to me, Lord Emberson, that you may already be struggling to work the lands that you already have responsibility for. Is there a reason why granting you more would change that?” The Lord opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur continues. “In fact, Lords Josef and Asher, who maintain the lands bordering yours, seem to be quite successful. It may be that you have a bit too much on your plate. Perhaps they could ease your burdens.” A squawk escaped Lord Emberson.

“Your Majesty! That servant couldn't possibly—”

The king slaps his hand on the arm of his throne, quickly silencing the man. He leans forward and narrowed his eyes at the avaricious lord. “ _That servant_ , as you say, is a man I trust far more than the likes of you. From what I understand, you come seeking more lands from the crown when you cannot even manage the ones you have. It is clear for all to see that yours is not an act of generosity, but one of greed! Have you considered how giving you leave to waste such precious resources could hurt Camelot as a whole?”

“Your Highness,” Lord Emberson takes on a placating tone, “If you would just listen—”

“No! You hear _me_ , Lord Emberson. Camelot and her people rely on lands such as yours to survive. The truth of the matter is that you have not done your duty. You are so soaked in gluttony that you ask for more yet!” He sits back, shaking his head. “No, Lord Emberson. You will not get any more lands. In fact, I shall ease your burdens. Lords Josef and Asher will each take the weight of a hundred off of your shoulders.” He waves his hand dismissively in the face of the open-mouthed lord. “You are dismissed.”

By now the lord is trembling, though if it was in rage or fear, Merlin couldn't tell. Then he presses a bit further into the wall when the man looks up to glare at him with such hatred that if looks could kill, Merlin would already be on fire. Emberson turns to leave the room when the king calls him back.

“Lord Emberson.” he says with a tone of warning, “I do not think I have to say that you have only reaped the consequences of your own actions. Should any come to harm, those consequences will increase tenfold.”

“Y-yes, Your Highness.” Emberson grits, and he scarpers away with as much dignity as he could muster. The room is filled with whispers following the lord's quick exit.

Arthur clears his throat and the room quiets. “I believe that all for petitions from the nobility?” he looks around to confirm. “Good. Who is next?”

The guards usher forward a young teen. At first glance they seem to be a boy due to their clothing and the dirt that covers them, but then they open their mouth. “I haven't done anything wrong!” They yank their thin arm from one of the guard's hands and turn to run before being yanked back by their ratty sleeve. “Leggo of me!” They growl.

“Peace!” urges Arthur. “We don't even know what you've done yet. This is not a trial.” The teen stills, looking suspiciously at the king. “Thank you,” Arthur says, causing a look of surprise before it's covered by a scowl.

“Now, young...”

“Altha.” they say, raising their chin.

“Now young Altha, I can have the guards release you if you can promise to stay while we speak peaceably. If you have committed a crime, then there will be repercussions, but there is still no need to fear. After all, you have not murdered anyone, have you?”

Altha's eyes widen. “No! 'Course not!”

Arthur chuckles. “Then we have no issue here, not yet. Release her.” He gestures to the guards and they do.

“I'm not a girl!” protests Altha, tensing enough that the guards reached for them again.

Arthur is a little confused. This person in front of him, Altha, sure did seem to be a young woman by their face and voice and—though he tried not to notice—the shape of budding breasts showing clearly through their worn tunic. He had heard of men who became women and women who became men, however.

“Okay. You are a boy, then?” he asks politely. Altha looks stunned as his easy acceptance, but shakes their head. “Not a boy either, no, Milord.” Arthur blinks, then smiles. “Alright. How shall I refer to you, then?” Altha smiles back. “They instead of he or she, and Altha. Sire.”

Arthur claps his hands once. “Perfect. Now, Altha. Why did my guards drag you up to see me? Have you done some misdeed?” The pleasant moment between king and subject seems to be over, because Altha tenses and looks ready to run again.

“Peace.” repeats Arthur softly. “Explain.”

Altha stands there, nervously wringing their hands and biting their lip as Arthur waits patiently. “They're hungry!” Altha finally blurts. “I had to do it! They're starving, all of them!”

Arthur nods seriously. “That sounds like a good reason to do something. What is it you did?”

“I only took a bit from each cart.” Ah. “Not enough to notice, not for a while at least. It wasn't even enough for everyone.” Arthur looks grave, and Altha crosses their arms to hide their trembling hands. “Is this a trial now, then?” they challenge.

Arthur doesn't answer the question. Instead, he says, “So, Altha, let me see if I have this straight. You and others, I'm assuming children, have been so hungry that you've had to resort to stealing, for what you say is 'a while'?”

Altha swallows and slowly nods. “Yes, Milord.”

Arthur leans forward in his throne, clenched hands across his mouth in thought, looking troubled.

He gazes at the teen sadly. “I'm sorry, Altha. I'm sorry that you and those you care for have gone hungry in a great kingdom such as Camelot, though she is not as great as I thought if children are hungry in the streets.” Altha looks shocked, as do many of the other people in the room. Merlin looks proud, though, standing taller. “I would like to make it up to you all by providing food and shelter to your group and any others you know that may need it. Do you have a place to stay?”

It takes a moment for Altha to come out of their surprise and catch up with the conversation, but finally they stammer, “No, I mean yes, I mean...some of us, Milord.”

Arthur stands and walks to Altha, laying a hand on their bony shoulder. He squeezes lightly.

“Alright then, Altha. We'll get this sorted. I apologize again for any suffering you have been through as a result of my negligence.” He gestures at one of the guards who had led Altha into the room. “Please lead Altha to Lady Guinevere and explain the situation.” Then he calls out to one of the maids that are near Merlin. “Juliana, if you could accompany Altha and assist Lady Guinevere, you would have my thanks.” The maid nods and comes forward, taking Altha's wrist gently and leading the stunned youth out of the throne room, followed by the guard.

The rest of the petitions go as usual. There is dispute from two merchants about placement of their market stalls, two farmers who are arguing about the ownership of plants that grew on one's land if the seeds had been spilled accidentally by the other man, and the peculiar case of about a cat, in which it was decided that he belonged to all three people because that was what the cat wanted.

As the last of the petitioners file out, Merlin approaches the throne. Arthur looks up at his servant tiredly, and Merlin beams silently down at his master. Arthur pokes a gloved finger in his face, causing his eyes to cross.

“Don't say anything.” he orders.

“Me? Say anything? I wasn't going to say anything!” Merlin protested, hands flailing.

Arthur glares. “Your face was speaking. Shut up.”

Merlin grins cheekily. “If my face was saying anything, it would be that I am immensely impressed with and proud of you, Arthur. You truly are a great king.”

Arthur's eyes shift sideways. “I only did what I thought was right. It was nothing remarkable.” Merlin opens his mouth to disagree and Arthur shoves his finger forward again. “So—”

“Shut up. Right.” But then they're both looking at each other, and smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Wadja think? Kudos are hugs and comments are love!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super quick chapter! I didn't want to keep you all waiting anymore. I was in a writing rut for a while there. I think things will speed up, especially since we're approaching the stuff that I have written already!

After the council meeting, Arthur is exhausted, though the day is far from over. He decides to take an early dinner, and sends Merlin to get it.

Merlin, as usual, is delayed on his way to the kitchens by being friendly with other servants. Marjorie’s little boy has finally gotten over the sweating sickness, and Tam’s dog has whelped a large litter of pups that he promises to show Merlin soon. Even George stops him to let him know, quite enthusiastically, that he has been allowed to polish a long-forgotten cache of royal jewelry.

Merlin is casually walking towards the kitchens, humming a tune of the song that his mother often sang when cooking or gardening, when a hand grips his shoulder and he finds himself thrown into the stone wall of the corridor. His breath rushes out of him with the impact. When his eyes clear, he sees his assailant. Lord Emberson.

Emberson’s face is flushed, nearly as red as his fiery hair. His face transforms into a snarl as his hand closes around Merlin’s throat, slamming his head into the stone.

“It’s all your fault,  _ boy _ !” Emberson hisses, leaning close into Merlin’s ear. Merlin can smell the wine on his breath, and he shudders. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have  _ more _ lands, instead of less!” The hand on Merlin’s throat clenches, cutting off his airflow. Merlin claws at it as he chokes, desperate for air. Emberson chuckles. “Not so cocky now, are you, boy?”

As suddenly as he had been attacked, the pressure disappears from Merlin’s neck. He leans over, holding his knees as he gasps for breath. When he finally catches it, he sees that Lord Emberson is sprawled on the floor of the corridor, a sword pointed at his neck. At the other end of the sword is Gwaine. He looks vicious in a way that Merlin had never seen before. He looks up at Merlin, expression softening into one of concern.

“Alright there, Merlin?”

“Er,” Merlin coughs, “Yeah, I’m alright. Just taken unawares, is all.”

Lord Emberson hasn’t spoken yet,, the threat of the sword at his chest keeping him quiet, but finally he says, “This is highly inappropriate! A knight of Camelot, attacking a Lord! I have half a mind to—” The point of Gwaine’s sword silences him once again as he growls, “Highly inappropriate! How about accosting the king’s manservant after being  _ specifically told not to _ !” Gwaine grins ferally. “Maybe the king should hear about this. I wonder how he would react?” 

Emberson blanches. “N-no need, Sir Knight! The king needn’t be bothered with such trivialities! I will be gone on the morrow!” He takes a deep, relieved breath as the sword is removed, and scrambles to his feet.

“See to it.” Gwaine says. “And see to it that you don’t return. If you do, we’ll be having... _ words _ .” He spins his sword before sheathing it, the threat clear. The frightened lord swallows audibly, then hurries away as if Gwaine were chasing him.

Gwaine turns his attention to Merlin, who is rubbing the goose egg forming on the back of his head. The knight sets a hand on his shoulder. “How are you doing, Merlin? That lord didn’t hurt you too badly, did he?” His eyes darken. “If he did, I’ll kill him.” He looks ready to turn and head in the direction that Lord Emberson had fled.

Merlin’s hand settles on Gwaine’s, squeezing it. “Thanks, Gwaine, but there’s no need for murder today.”

“Are you sure?” Gwaine looks wistful.

“Completely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to fetch dinner for a certain prat.” Merlin says as he adjusts his neckerchief to cover his bruised neck. Gwaine watches seriously, already tempted to go after the cowardly lord despite Merlin’s protestations. Instead, when Merlin finishes his adjusting and looks up at his friend, Gwaine puts on an easy smile.

“Take care, Merlin. You know where to find me if there’s any trouble.”

Merlin grins, eyes crinkling. “The tavern?”

“Too right, my friend!” He pats Merlin on the shoulder and heads off down the corridor.

Merlin finally makes it to the kitchens, where Cook is finishing up cooking dinner for the castle. She grudgingly allows Merlin to take a plate, and even puts an extra sweet bun into his hands, glaring eyes daring Merlin to mention her kindness. He just smiles at her and dashes away before he can give her a chance to regret her decision. As soon as he’s out of sight, he stuffs the bun into his mouth and nearly moans at the fresh and delicious taste of it. Never let it be said that Merlin doesn’t appreciate good food.

Merlin makes it back to Arthur’s chambers without any further trouble and pushes his way in. Arthur is sitting at his table, deep in thought, and barely notices when the tray is placed in front of him. Arthur has his elbows on the table, resting his chin on clenched hands. Merlin clears his throat.

“Arthur?”

Arthur grunts but doesn’t say anything in response. Merlin lays a hand on his shoulder, causing Arthur to snap out of his reflections and glance up at him.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Merlin smiles.

“I’m just thinking on what the child, Altha, told me. There are people starving, here in Camelot. So much that they turn to crime. What kind of king am I that I didn’t know this, that I could allow this to happen?”

Merlin sits in the chair across from Arthur, pushing aside the tray of food, and takes Arthur’s clenched and twisting hands, separating them and giving them a squeeze himself.

“No matter how great a kingdom is, there will always be those who are less fortunate. You know about it now, and you’re doing something about it! Not many would. You are as great a king as I’ve always said you would be, maybe even better.”

Arthur hums in disagreement, and Merlin sighs.

“Tell you what. How about I send for Gwen and she can give us an update on the children? We can all make a plan on how to improve the lives of those who don’t have enough. I’m sure she’s already got something in the works, but with all of our heads together we can come up with something even better.”

Arthur nods. “Thank you, Merlin. That will greatly set me at ease.”

Merlin smiles fondly at Arthur. “Of course. Now eat your dinner.” When Arthur hesitates, Merlin says sternly, “Don’t be a martyr! All of those children are eating tonight, and you will too, Arthur Pendragon.” He crosses his arms and sets his jaw, daring Arthur to argue.

Arthur looks slightly chagrined that Merlin knew exactly what he had been thinking, then smiles softly, shaking his head, as he adjusts the tray back in front of him and begins to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos are hugs and comments are love!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! Personal notes and excuses are at the end of the chapter.

Guinevere sits in front of the crackling fireplace in her office, eyes focused as she listens attentively to the servant sitting in front of her. Mirabelle is nearing the end of her pregnancy, and would need a couple of weeks off to rest before and after the birth before resuming her duties. Being a woman herself, Gwen is much more flexible to women’s needs than the past chamberlain had been. Though she herself is wearing a silk gown of a deep golden color, and Mirabelle a faded green wool dress covered with a stained linen apron, the former servant treats the workers of the castle as if she had never risen in station at all. Leaning forward, she gently takes Mirabelle’s work-calloused hand in her own, eyes soft and understanding.

  
  


“There’s no need to worry. I will grant you whatever time you need, and you will continue to be paid however long that you are gone.”

  
  


“ My Lady!” Mirabelle gasps, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth, “That’s more than I could possibly ask for…”

Gwen smiles kindly. “You have no need to ask; it is freely given. You have worked hard, Mirabelle. You've earned the time to ensure a successful birth and a healthy baby, and to gain your strength before returning to work. If there’s anything you feel you need to finish up, then do so, but consider this moment to be the start of your leave. I will arrange for your duties to be taken by others in the meantime.” She sees that the servant is overcome, so she leaves her seat and kneels, wrapping her arms around the woman. Mirabelle returns the gesture, tentatively at first, but then stronger when she gains the courage, trying to communicate her thanks. “You deserve this.” Gwen asserts gently, rubbing Mirabelle's back as she reigns in her grateful tears. “Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise!” Gwen then stands, pulling the pregnant servant up with her. “Now enjoy this time with your husband and your baby.”

Gwen leads Mirabelle to the door, one hand on the small of her back. “Tell Rolph he’d better be treating you like a queen! It’s not just any day that someone carries their first child!” They both laugh as Gwen opens the door, and Mirabelle promises she will pass on the message. Her love for her husband and excitement for the coming of their child are clear in her eyes. She gives one last curtsy and a “My Lady” before taking her leave.

Gwen closes the door softly, and leans her back against it, taking a breath. While she knows that the previous chamberlain would have disapproved of some of her decisions, she knows that she is doing what she feels is right. When Arthur had asked her to fill the position, he had acknowledged that he knew that she would do things differently, and that that was what he wanted; not just a well-run castle, but happier servants within it. Coming from that position herself, she knew better what they needed. When she had raised the servants' wages, the council had protested, but Arthur had fiercely backed her and praised her publicly. When she had informed Merlin that many of the chores he had been doing for Arthur were below his station, Arthur had not been as pleased, but when she had given him an eyebrow that could rival one of Gaius', he had simply smiled sheepishly and accepted it.

Remembering the occasion brings a small smile to her face as she approaches her desk, intending to start shifting the duties of the servants around as she had told Mirabelle she would. Gwen takes a seat on the comfortable velvet-lined cushion and pulls the servant roster and schedule towards herself. She takes a moment to carefully sharpen one of the beautiful quills that Merlin had gifted her with when she had come into the chamberlain position so many months ago. Just as she is about to dip the quill into her pot of ink, there is a knock on the door.

Laying down the quill, Gwen calls out, “Enter!” The door opens, revealing a maid, Juliana, and a thin, dirty teen. Behind them is one of the guards, Kenneth. Juliana curtsies, and Kenneth gives a short bow. The teen grimaces and shifts uncomfortably on their feet, clearly not knowing what to do in this situation. 

“My Lady Guinevere,” says Juliana. “I apologize for any interruption, but King Arthur bade me seek you assistance regarding an urgent matter.” 

Gwen waves at the maid. “No need for apologies or formalities, Juliana. It was not so long ago that we were doing the washing side by side!” She glances at the dirty youth, taking them in. They had skin that would probably be pale and hair that would probably be a dark wheat color, if given the chance for a bath, and although they wore the clothes of a boy, appeared to be physically female. Those clothes were as dirty as their face, worn through and ripped in several places, with holes in their boots. “And who is this?” Gwen asks curiously.

“I'm Altha,” they said, standing tall and proud, jutting their chin forward in challenge. “And I'm not a girl.” Gwen had to hold back her smile at Altha's bluster. She held out her hand for Altha to shake. “Hello, Altha. I'm Guinevere, though my friends call me Gwen.” Altha narrowed their eyes at her, hesitating, but took her hand and shook it firmly before stepping back. 

“What was this urgent business?” Gwen asks, looking between Juliana and Altha. “I'll help in any way I can.”

Altha looks at Gwen assessingly. “My friends.” Says Altha reluctantly. “They're hungry...and many have no place to stay. I've been doing my best, I have, but...” their expression drops and they whisper roughly, “It hasn't been enough.” Altha looks up, searching Gwen's face. “The king said you would help.” Their gaze lowers to the floor.

Gwen can tell that this Altha has quite a lot of pride, and that it took a lot to ask for help. Though she doesn't know them, she finds herself already feeling a sense of responsibility for them, a kinship. She rests her hand softly on their shoulder. “Of  _ course _ I'll help. How many of you are there, and what ages?”

***

A few hours later find Altha and twelve children, ages four to ten, a one-armed man in his thirties, and an elderly woman all sitting in one of the castle's formal dining rooms, eating a dinner of hearty stew, bread, and fruit. With Altha's help, it hadn't taken much time or effort to convince them that Gwen could be trusted to aid them, and they had come along willingly. Even the man and older woman saw Altha as their unequivocal leader. When Gwen told them that they would be housed in the castle and fed three times a day, a few had burst into tears, and even Altha had a hard time holding their composure. 

All of their relief was palpable, and Gwen made a silent promise to make sure that they and anyone else who came forward would get all the help that they would need as long as it was within her power. She had left them with their meal, and set off to prepare their rooms.

***

“ Gwen!” Merlin calls, approaching her. “There you are! How are things coming along? I see you’re putting this wing to good use.”

  
  


Gwen turns to Merlin, smiling, though Merlin can see the stress lined clearly on her face. “The preparations are going smoothly. These chambers haven’t been used in quite a while, so I’m having them aired out and the beddings changed. What can I do for you?”

  
  


Merlin grins crookedly. “Arthur’s worrying, you know how he is.” She nods, smiling affectionately. She knows how their king takes issues on deeply, though he tries hard to hide his passionate feelings. “I take it that it would set his mind at ease to know how things are proceeding?”

  
  


“Right on the nose, Gwen.”

  
  


“ Alright then. I’m not needed here at the moment.” she said, holding out her arm. Merlin loops his own around it, and they head for the king’s rooms.

***

When Gwen and Merlin arrive at Arthur's chambers, he's standing at his window, staring pensively out in the direction of the courtyard, though he doesn't see it. He's in his head, thinking about how he's failed so many in his kingdom, how his people have been starving and he didn't even know about it.

He's startled out of his thoughts when hears Merlin say, “You're thinking too hard, Sire. Don't hurt yourself!” followed by Gwen's giggling. “Merlin!” she admonishes. Arthur turns, and finds both of his friends smiling at him, however sympathetically. He straightens, clearing his throat. “Guinevere. Merlin. How goes the preparations? And how many are there?”  _ that I failed  _ goes unspoken, but is clearly heard by all in the room. Merlin, still arm in arm with Gwen, leads her to the table and pulls out a chair, seating her. Arthur joins, sitting across the table as Merlin fetches three goblets and fills them with wine, leaving the pitcher close by before sitting to Arthur's right.

Gwen takes a sip from her goblet, observing Arthur's anxious expression, before replying. “There are twelve children, one crippled man, an elderly woman, and Altha. They are having a meal now, and their rooms are being prepared. I've reached out to the servants and the seamstresses for clothing for them all, and once they are settled in their rooms I'll send for baths. Tomorrow I plan to speak with all of them and see if they know any others that might be helped. All is well in hand.”

As Gwen speaks, relief and guilt come upon Arthur's face in equal measure, and he drains his goblet in a few gulps. Merlin squeezes a hand on Arthur's shoulder before filling it again. Gwen and Merlin know that they must tread carefully, for although Arthur cares deeply, he does not like for others to know that he does. But this is Merlin, and this is Gwen. He can be his true self around them.

“How could I have missed this?” he chokes. “People are starving. In Camelot!”  _ My Camelot.  _ His tears are audible, though they are not yet on his cheeks.

Arthur takes another gulp of his wine, then sets it down. Gwen reaches her hand across the table, and he takes it, squeezing. Merlin's hand is still on his shoulder. 

“I...” Arthur starts. “Thank you, Guinevere. Merlin.” His throat becomes thick before he can say any more, but the understand. They all hold on to one another. They are in this together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! I've been in a bit of a personal rut. I deal with clinical depression on a normal day, but with the election and pandemic it's been especially hard. I've basically been escaping into a world of drinking booze and reading fanfiction and sleeping way too much. I feel like I've gotten over the hump, though, and I also have a good bit of the next part of the story written, so there's that! Thanks to everyone who stuck with me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus chapter for leaving you all high and dry for 5-6 weeks!

It is a few days later, and Arthur has finally found time to tend to the vaults like he had proposed to Merlin several days before. Both he and Merlin each hold a torch as they sort through all and sunder in the dusty underbelly of the castle.

“ Why are we doing this again, Arthur?” Merlin grouses. He knows why, though; Arthur is searching for a reminder of his mother, the late Queen Ygraine. But Merlin has noticed his king's mood, and is trying to lighten it by annoying him in the way that only he can.

  
  


“ Because,  _ Mer _ lin, I want order in my kingdom. How am I supposed to have order with this mess sitting about?” Arthur responds with an annoyed look on his face.

  
  


“ _You're_ a mess sitting about.” the servant grumbles, poking a dusty ruby-eyed golden frog with one finger. It's red eyes glitter in the torchlight, but it seems otherwise unremarkable.

  
  


Arthur turns to him, eyebrows raised. “What was that, Merlin?” he says, jabbing an accusatory finger at his manservant.

  
  


“ Uh...” Merlin fumbles, eyes crossing at the pointed finger almost touching his nose. “You're the best for sorting this out!” Merlin quickly recovers, grinning cheekily.

  
  


Arthur crosses his arms, giving him a long stare, lips pursed. Merlin stares back, face the picture of innocence, not giving an inch as Arthur tries to wait him out. Finally, Arthur sighs, then turns back to the gargantuan task of sorting out the royal vaults. “Come on, Merlin. We must get started if we ever hope to finish.”

  
  


“ Yes, sire.” Merlin says, with none of the respect in his voice that the reference to his master's station deserves. But that's just Merlin, isn't it? He's never been one of those bootlickers that Arthur had had as his servants before. He has always treated Arthur as just Arthur, not the Crown Prince or the King of Camelot. Just Arthur, the man. Although Arthur wouldn't ever admit it out loud, he wouldn't have it any other way.

***

  
  


  
  


Arthur has spent the last few days, along with Merlin, sifting through the contents of the near-overflowing vaults of Camelot. There are many treasures, like jewelry and gold and gems, as well as armor of older designs, which Arthur finds fascinating. One particular item that stands out is a tube with glass at either end which, when peered through, makes things that are farther away appear closer. He's not sure what it's called, but he knows it will be very useful, both in hunting and in times of war.

  
  


Today has been fairly boring, though. Merlin is out collecting herbs for Gaius, so Arthur is down in the vaults alone, except for the quill and parchment that he's using to make the list of it's contents. There are guards by the entrance, but they offer no entertainment, just shuffling their feet and yawning occasionally. As much as Arthur may find Merlin's prattling on annoying at times, right now Arthur finds himself missing it.

  
  


He finds himself frustrated. His claims of ordering the vaults were genuine, but his true wish is to find the paintings of his departed mother. He had only seen her once, as a summoned spirit, if the witch Morgause could be believed. Merlin had said she was lying about what the ghost had said, that he hadn't truly been born of magic, that his father hadn't been responsible for her death. What if that hadn't been the visage of his mother at all? He didn't know what she looked like, after all. He had never seen her; she had taken her last breaths shortly after he had taken his first. Maybe she had never even seen him either.

  
  


Stepping into a yet-unsearched room, Arthur inspects the space. It's covered in dust, and the torches don't reach fully into it's depths. He browses the racks, peering at the items with only slight interest. They aren't what he's looking for. He's about to farther into the room when he feels a pull towards a particular area. There's something...there. A cupboard. It doesn't look anything special, just a flat wood with a faded varnish, chipped at the corners, with scratches on the door, with a rusty lock on it. Maybe it's contents are dangerous? Or particularly valuable, perhaps. The fastening is nearly eaten through with rust, though, so he takes his dagger out of his belt and wedges it into the middle of the lock. It will warp the metal edge of the dagger, but Merlin can always fix it later.

  
  


He feels a strong compulsion to get into the cabinet, and something in the back of his mind is warning him away from it. It's just a small voice of alarm, and it sounds a bit like Merlin, actually. He can even imagine his servant's voice. “ _I've got a bad feeling about this, sire.”_ Merlin and his _bad feelings._ Arthur scoffs, and twists the dagger.

  
  


The metal gives way, falling to the ground in two pieces. Success. He opens the cabinet door curiously. It's bare inside except for one item; a lantern. It is brass, octagonal in shape, with eight clear glass windows. The lantern is topped with what looks like an ornate crown, set with small red stones, and a spiral peak in the middle upon which is a round handle. It's tarnished, but otherwise looks to be in good shape. Oh, how George would love to scour this. That servant does love his polishing, if his brass jokes are anything to go by.

  
  


Arthur reaches into the cabinet and picks up the lamp, studying it. As he examines it, he notices an inscription on the base. He brings it closer to his eyes. “To light the way and understand the path to take.” he reads aloud. As soon as he utters the words, the lamp begins to glow. He startles and tries to drop the lantern, but it doesn't seem to want to leave his hands; he can't let go of it. The light glows brighter, and his head starts to spin. It blazes, blinding him, and then his vision darkens as he begins to lose consciousness. He blacks out before his body hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta-da!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds himself somewhen he never expected to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep updated weekly for now, as long as I can. I'm a bit ahead and I'd like to keep it that way. Make me feel better to know that a bit of writer's block won't keep me from an update.
> 
> Enjoy!

  
  


When Arthur comes to, he finds himself on the stone floor of the vault. The lantern is laying on the floor near his hands, glass shattered and the metal slightly twisted. His head feels heavy, and Arthur shakes his head to clear it. _How long have I been down here?_ He thinks. He looks around, and sees that only a few of the torches are lit. _Have I been unconscious so long that the others have burned out?_

  
  


He pushes himself up off the floor and brushes himself off. His stomach growls, and he realizes that he must have missed at least one meal. Strange. Merlin would have come looking for him if he had been out for that long. Maybe the idiot had lost track of time searching for herbs for the court physician. It wouldn't be the first time.

  
  


Arthur heads out of the vaults, noticing there are different guards at the entrance. There must have been a shift change, then. They look startled when he exits. He supposes that no one had told them that the king was still in there. It makes sense then that there were so many dark torches, then.

  
  


Heading to his chambers, Arthur feels unsettled. Something seems peculiar about the castle. Unfamiliar servants pass by him as they tend to their duties, bowing and curtsying as he passes. Had they hired so many new servants lately? He dismisses the thought as unimportant. He trusts the Gwen to run the castle; things have always run smoothly and there's no reason to doubt her now.

  
  


Arthur reaches his chambers and pushes the heavy door open. Things do look a bit changed since he had been there this morning. Before he can fully take the room in, though, notices that there is someone in the room.

  
  


The man is wearing fine, tailored clothing, a deep blue doublet with black trousers, and is reading a book in front of the roaring fireplace. He has dark hair, and his long legs are crossed as he's deeply engrossed in the large tome. It takes a moment, but he realizes it's his manservant. He knows those ears. Where did he get such clothes, and why is he lounging about instead of tending to his chores? And is his hair longer than it was that morning?

  
  


Arthur clears his throat loudly, startling the man. Merlin turns in his seat, and when he sees Arthur, a wide grin takes over his face, a deep fondness reaching his eyes. Arthur is bewildered for a moment. When had his servant ever looked at him like that?

  
  


When he comes back to himself, Merlin is halfway across the room. “I didn't think you'd be back so soon! What a pleasant surprise,” Merlin says, joy clear in his voice. Arthur is still wondering about the clothes his servant is wearing, so he starts to ask, “Merlin, what—” when Merlin put his hand on the back of Arthur's neck and pulls Arthur in for a kiss.

  
  


Arthur is surprised and doesn't respond at first, but when he feels a tongue licking at his bottom lip, he opens his mouth and lets it in, meeting it with his own. His servant's lips are unexpectedly soft, and he finds himself lost in them. Arthur brings his own hand up the other man's cheek, stroking it softly. He smells lightly of herbs and spice, and Arthur tries to memorize the scent.

  
  


Just as he moans and his breath begins to quicken, Merlin slots his leg between Arthur's and reaches between them and cups his crotch. Arthur startles and breaks the kiss with a gasp. Merlin pulls away.

  
  


“ Arthur, what's wrong?” Merlin searches his face for a moment. A look of surprised realization comes to his face, and he leaps backwards and raises his hand. “ _ Sgaubahd as _ !” He shouts, and Arthur finds himself pinned to the door with his feet inches above the stone floor.

  
  


“ You're a sorcerer!” Arthur yells out, shocked and with outraged expression, while at the same time Merlin cries, “You're not Arthur!”

  
  


“ Of course I'm Arthur!”

  
  


“Arthur _knows_ I'm a sorcerer.”

  
  


“ No, I didn't!”

  
  


“ So you're not Arthur!”

  
  


“I would _well_ know who I am!” Arthur growls.

  
  


They're stand there (well, Merlin stands, while Arthur is still held up against the chamber door), glaring at each other. After a minute, Merlin takes a step back, now looking thoughtful while Arthur floats still, breathing hard. The sorcerer seems to be contemplating something, his hand right hand rubbing his chin while resting his elbow in his left. He nods to himself, seeming to make a decision, and he then walks up to Arthur, who leans his head away as much as he can in his position.

  
  


“ What are you doing,  _ sorcerer _ ?” He grits out.

  
  


“ Checking something.” Merlin replies calmly, reaching out and pulling up Arthur's tunic.

  
  


“ Stop that at once! Unhand me!” He yelps, eyes widening as he struggles against invisible bonds.

  
  


Merlin ignores him and studies Arthur's abdomen. He runs his hand along the other's midriff, tracing the scars, ignoring the king's shudder at the touch. Finally, he nods and releases the tunic, taking a step back. “Hmm...you are Arthur.” The man in question glowers at him.

  
  


“ Clearly!” he spits.

  
  


“But, you're not _my_ Arthur.” Merlin surmises. “You're missing some of his scars. You're missing the lines on his face.” He winces. “Not that I'd tell him he has age lines. He wouldn't take kindly to that,” he laughs lightly. After a moment, he sobers and nods again. “You're a younger version of him. What's the last thing you remember?”

  
  


Arthur doesn't reply, scowling as he watches the man in front of him. Merlin sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If I let you down, do you promise not to assault me?” he proposes. The king looks at him stonily as he crosses his arms and waits patiently for a reply. “I'm not going to hurt you, you know,” the sorcerer says. “I'd never harm you Arthur. Never.” Arthur regards him with suspicion. He sounds genuine, but everyone knows that you can't trust a sorcerer. But what choice does he have? He's at the mercy of the other man.

  
  


“ Alright,” he says, reluctantly. “I won't attack you.” Then he is released, dropping to the floor. He stumbles before finding his footing. They don't take their eyes off each other, neither quite trusting that they won't be taken by surprise.

  
  


“ What's the last thing you remember?” Merlin questions again. “We have to figure out how you got here.”

  
  


“ How I got here? Am I not in my castle? In Camelot?” Arthur knew there had been something strange and different as he had walked through the castle, but surely he knew his own home.

  
  


“ Yes, but,” Merlin hesitates. His face twisted in thought, trying to figure out how to break the news. “Well...I think...well, I think you're in the future. Your future.” he finished. He watches Arthur's face turn incredulous at the statement. “Come,” Merlin beckons. “Let's sit and talk about this.” That said, he turns and walks over to the fireplace and seats himself one of the two fur-covered chairs in front of the fireplace.

  
  


Arthur debates with himself for several seconds, then follows. He perches on the edge of his seat, ready to spring up and defend himself at a moment's notice. No matter how harmless the other man seems, he's still a sorcerer. Dangerous, and a threat. He wouldn't let his guard down.

  
  


Merlin looks pained. “I forgot that you used to be like this.” he laments. “Things have changed so much, and I expect I have put it all behind me. I guess I wanted to dismiss from my mind the way things used to be.” he says wistfully.

  
  


“ The last thing I remember,” Arthur starts slowly, finally beginning to answer Merlin's earlier question, “is being in the vaults. I suppose that I touched a magical artifact. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was here.” Merlin looks thoughtful.

  
  


“ Time travel,” he muses. “I didn't think it was possible.” He stands abruptly, causing Arthur to tense. Merlin doesn't notice, and starts pacing. He begins to argue with himself. “Could there have been a bend in time? I didn't think it was possible,” he repeats. “But...no!” He turned and paces in the other direction. “What about the grandfather paradox? It's all theoretical, of course. Maybe...? No, that can't be it either.” He turns again. “What if? Oh, what if this changes everything? What if this never happens?! Or did it happen already? Is this what makes the present as it is now? Oh, I don't understand!” He moans, throwing his arms up. Then he restarts his pacing, mumbling furiously to himself in words that Arthur couldn't begin to understand.

  
  


Arthur's eyes follow, scrutinizing the man in front of him. He feels conflicted. This is Merlin, a man he trusts—or used to trust. This is not his Merlin. _His_ Merlin would never practice magic. Or did he already? He can trust Merlin—his Merlin, at least (and when did he start thinking of Merlin as his? No matter.). But, can he trust the man in front of him? He doesn't seem to have any ill intentions, if his amorous greeting is anything to judge by. If this is the future, then it seems that his future self is in...is in a _relationship_ with _Merlin_ , who is a _sorcerer_. This is all making his head spin.

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


“ Pass the butter, will you?” Arthur requests of Merlin. The other man had requested lunch from a passing servant, and they were eating in somewhat of an awkward silence. Arthur had decided to put aside his anger and distrust, at least for a little while. He was still on his guard—this was a sorcerer, after all—but the other man didn't seem to mean any harm, and the king didn't see that he had any other options. The king was at his mercy; a sword wouldn't do much against a sorcerer that could kill him with a word. Merlin passes him the butter, and he spreads it on his bread, still warm from the kitchens. He was hungrier than he had thought. They continue to eat in relative peace.

  
  


They finish the meal, and Merlin looks discomfited, like he wants to says something but doesn't no how to start. Arthur loses his patience. “Out with it! You have something to say, don't you?”

  
  


“ Well,” Merlin starts, “I figured that since you're here, in this time, you might want to know how it is now. Things have changed since your time. Maybe it would be good to know all the ways that they have?” He looks unsure, prepared for Arthur's rejection.

  
  


“ I might as well, if I'm going to be here for any length of time.” Arthur replies. He tries not to notice how Merlin brightens at his response. This isn't his Merlin. He can't trust him. Not yet. “I can assume by you manner of dress,” he continues, waving towards Merlin's clothes, “that you're no longer a manservant.”  _ My manservant _ .

  
  


The warlock smiles. “No, not a manservant. Not anymore. I have a different position now. In the court.” He gathers himself, preparing for Arthur's response to what he has to say. “I'm the Court Sorcerer, and, well...Prince Consort.” When he sees the surprise and disbelief on the king's face, and looks almost apologetic. “Shocking, I know. Like I said, times have changed.”

  
  


“ Court Sorcerer! Prince Consort!” Arthur sputters. What was his future self  _ thinking _ ? He didn't realize that he had voiced his question out loud, until the other replies. “He was thinking that magic isn't all bad. That it could be a force for good.” At Arthur's incredulous expression, he continues. “Magic is like a sword. A sword can kill, be used for evil, or it can defend the innocent, those who can't protect themselves. Magic can also heal the sick and injured, produce better crop yields to feed the people, and so much more. Magic can be beautiful.” Merlin has an affectionate smile on his face, like magic is a person he cares for. Arthur can tell that he's sincere, but he won't be swayed.

  
  


“ Magic killed my mother, my father! How can you say that there's anything good about it!?” His hands are clenching the armrests of his chair now, knuckles white. “Magic is a blight on the kingdom, something to be erased.” He says, seething.

  
  


“No!” Merlin defends. “Magic was the method used to kill your parents, but it was _people_ that were responsible. People with evil in their hearts. Your mother—”

  
  


“Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother!” Arthur snarls, standing abruptly, his chair rocking back. Merlin, however, is not deterred. He rises from his chair as well, cautiously, so as not to alarm the other man. Still, Arthur stiffens as if preparing for an attack.

  
  


“ Your mother died to maintain the balance. Uther wanted an heir, and he used magic to get one. To get you.” His voice is low now, solemn. “Back when...back when you tried to kill your father, after Morgause showed you your mother's spirit...I lied. You truly were born of magic. There is a balance. A life for a life. I'm sorry, Arthur.”

  
  


Arthur is breathing hard now, eyes wild. “Why would you lie about something like that!” His face is red with anger. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You lied about being a  _ sorcerer _ , after all.” Merlin flinches. “All those years, Merlin!” he shouts. “I thought I could trust you!”

  
  


Merlin's face is white now, distraught. “You can trust me Arthur!” The king makes a noise, like he's being strangled. “My magic is for you!” He exclaims. “I've used it to protect you all these years. My magic is for you. Only for you.” He's whispering by the end, desperation in his voice, willing, begging for Arthur to understand. “I lied to protect you. If you had killed your father, you would never have become the great king I knew you could be. That you've become! It would have destroyed you, Arthur. No matter what he had done, no matter what deal he had with Nimueh to have you conceived, you loved your father. I couldn't let you do that to yourself.”

  
  


Arthur is quiet. He doesn't know why, but he believes Merlin. The man in front of him is not lying now. “And my father?” he questions. “Magic killed him too.”

  
  


“ Morgana killed your father.” At the king's confused countenance, Merlin goes on. “Morgana enchanted an amulet, which countered and amplified any spells that were applied to him. He shouldn't have died. The healing spell should have worked.” Arthur is looking at him, digesting what he has been told. “And...Arthur...the old sorcerer...the one who tried to save your father...that was me.”

  
  


“ You! You were Dragoon?” Merlin nods tiredly. “But why? Why would you want to heal my father? He would have had you killed!” Arthur shouts, desperate to understand the man he has secretly thought of as his best friend for years.

  
  


“ I thought,” Merlin starts, in a small voice. “I thought that if you could see the good in magic, the wondrous things it could do, that maybe your would change your mind about it.” His shoulders droop. “But I failed.” Merlin whispers. “I failed to notice the amulet that Agravaine had gotten from Morgana and placed it around his neck. My failure turned you even stronger against magic.” He looks dejected, head bowed. Arthur feels the inexplicable need to comfort him.

  
  


“ Merlin.” He breathes. Merlin's head snaps up sharply at the gentle tone of his king. “I...I believe you. You've never steered me wrong before.” Merlin's relieved smile makes his confession worth the trouble. They're quiet a minute, taking in the turn of events.

  
  


“ Merlin. Show me.”

  
  


“ Show you?” Merlin's brows wrinkle in confusion. “Show you what, Arthur?”

Arthur sighs as if put upon.  “ Your magic. Show me your magic, Merlin. I want to see.”

  
  


“ Are you sure, Arthur?” Merlin squeaks. “Maybe it's too much, too soon. I mean, I'd love to, but—”

  
  


“ Stop babbling like a buffoon,  _ Mer _ lin. Yes, I'm sure. Show me your magic.”

  
  


Merlin beams. If Arthur can address him like that, then maybe they're getting somewhere. He hesitates, pondering how to show him that magic can be beautiful and good.

  
  


“ Any time now, Merlin.” the king says impatiently, crossing his arms.

  
  


“ Oi! I'm thinking.”

  
  


“ Dangerous, that. Don't hurt yourself.” Arthur expresses wryly.

  
  


Merlin ignores the jibe, making his choice. He cups his hand together. Arthur leans forward and watches Merlin closely, waiting to see what he will do. Merlin's eyes flash gold, drawing a gasp from Arthur. Merlin opens his hands slowly, revealing a blue butterfly. It's gossamer wings have an ethereal glow to them as they open and close slowly. It flutters into the air, leaving a glittering trail behind it.

  
  


Arthur's eyes widen with wonder. Merlin was right; it's dazzling. The butterfly flits over to Arthur and flies around him in lazy circles, Arthur turning his head and following it all the while. He speechless for several moments. Then, to cover up his reaction, he snorts and says, “A butterfly? Of course, Merlin. I've always said you were a girl's petticoat.” Merlin knows this is just Arthur evading his feelings and isn't fooled. His face splits into a wide grin, eyes sparkling with relieved tears.

  
  


“ Of course, my lord. Whatever you say, sire.” he laughs with mirth. Arthur joins him, and thinks that maybe things will be alright after all. Maybe this Merlin isn't so different from the one he left behind.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished the chapter, then I hated the chapter, then I ripped apart the chapter, then I realized the chapter needed something before the chapter, and now here it is! Hope you like!

Merlin pokes his toe at the small pile of twisted metal and broken glass. When there is no response from it, he crouches down, carefully picking up a piece with a gloved hand and placing it in a cloth-lined basket. “It doesn't  _ seem _ very dangerous, not anymore.”

“Well, it is.” says Arthur. “I think it might have called to me. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's how it felt, thinking back.”

“So, you just picked it up?” says Merlin incredulously. He waves his torch over the ground, trying to make sure he doesn't miss any pieces. Spotting a few, he places them in the basket.

Arthur clicks his tongue, annoyed. “It was a  _ lantern _ , _ Mer _ lin. How was I supposed to know that it was magical? That it would throw me into the damned future?”

“Oh, I don't know, Arthur. Maybe the  _ glowing could have given you a hint _ ?” Merlin's face is turned away so Arthur couldn't see it, but he could practically  _ hear  _ his former servant's eyes rolling.

“It didn't glow until I picked it up!” the king argues defensively. “And maybe if you hadn't been wasting your time in the forest we could have found my mother's portraits in good time and all of _this_ ,” he waves his hand, “could have been avoided entirely!”

“Oh, there you go, Arthur, blaming me. I was picking herbs for Gaius, then?” Merlin asks, looking up at Arthur, who nods. “Oh, that's only _an entirely essential task that the kingdom depends on_. Nothing important, not at all!”

“I think you're vastly overestimating the importance of playing in the woods and going to the tavern,  _ Mer _ lin.”

“I was never in the tavern, you clotpole!”

***

The warlock and the king have made it up to Merlin's study. The room is large, and filled with all manner of magical books and curios. When Arthur had entered the room, he had been mystified with all of the items beyond his understanding. There is a staff topped with a large aquamarine jewel entwined in a twisted wood, leaning against a desk carved with elaborate depictions of nature, which itself had odd objects sitting on it. Among them is a small wooden dragon, which Arthur feels should be familiar, somehow.

On one of the sizable bookshelves, sitting between tomes that had indecipherable—to Arthur, at least—runes along their spines, is an ewer. Made of an ornate silver, it has a glass body, glowing purple from the liquid that lay within. It's mesmerizingly beautiful, and Arthur has a hard time tearing his eyes away from it. He hears it speak to him a soft, feminine whisper, and takes a few steps towards the ewer, unable to resist the pull. He thinks he hears Merlin call his name, but it's far away, as if heard through water.

“Arthur? Arthur!”

Merlin grips the king's arm tightly, and Arthur finds himself blinking dazedly at Merlin's concerned expression. “I see it likes you. Don't look at it!” Attention broken, Arthur's head clears, and he swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “...it?” he questions, eyes straying back towards the whispers. Merlin snaps his fingers in front of the king's face, calling his attention back. “The Ewer of Caeronvar.” Merlin explains grimly. “It's enchanted to entice the viewer to drink it, and could lead to disastrous results.” Merlin doesn't elaborate on what those results would be, but Arthur takes him at his word. _Magic_ , Arthur admonishes himself, _can still be dangerous, no matter that Merlin could create butterflies with it_. How strange it was that he has to remind himself of such a thing, when it was something he has believed all of his life.

The remains of the lantern sits on Merlin's workbench, looking nothing more than a mess of metal and glass. The warlock had examined, poked, and prodded it, intoning spell after spell in the language of the Old Religion that sounded so strange coming from Merlin's mouth. The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck had stood up as he heard them, despite himself. Alas, Merlin couldn't detect much more than a bit of residual magic, and that didn't give him much information to go on.

“I hate to say this, Arthur, but...I don't know how to get you back to your own time.” Merlin winces, knowing what's coming.

“ What do you mean you don't know how!?” Arthur bellows. And there it is.

  
  


Merlin sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “Just that, Arthur. It's not like I've ever encountered time travel before. Stopping time, yes, I can do that. But going through it? It's just not done.”

  
  


“ Clearly it has been,  _ Mer _ lin. I'm here, aren't I?” Arthur doesn't mention the little bit about Merlin being able to stop time. It couldn't be something that just any sorcerer could do, or else his father would never have been able to catch so many of them. Merlin must be very powerful to be able to do something like that.

Merlin is pulling books from their shelves, seemingly at random. As he tosses them over his shoulder, they catch in the air, into floating piles that trail behind him.  _ He hasn't even said a spell _ . Arthur thinks.  _ Don't sorcerers need spells to work their magic? Merlin was always a strange man.  _ He considers.  _ Maybe his magic isn't any different _ .

  
  


“I need to research.” the warlock explains, interrupting his thoughts. “I haven't read anything definite about it, only theories. I didn't think it was possible! But, like you said, here you are. In the future.” He continues to rifle through the tomes, throwing them onto the levitating stacks without looking, mumbling about _phenomenons_ and _deviations_ and _anomalies_. Arthur watches him curiously. A question comes suddenly into his mind.

  
  


“ When did you start to study magic?” he blurts.

  
  


The piles of books falter in the air, a few of them falling, as Merlin spins, taken off guard. “Never, Arthur.” He says carefully. “I've always had it. I was born with it.”

  
  


Arthur's forehead wrinkles. “ _Born_ with it? That's not possible! Sorcerers make the choice to study magic.” It was what he had always been told, that sorcerers choose to corrupt themselves and darken their souls. But babes aren't born evil; Arthur refuses to believe that. How many magic-users had been killed by his father that had no choice in the matter?

  
  


“ Warlock.” Merlin says, halting his reflection.

  
  


“ What?”

  
  


“ Warlock. I'm a warlock, Arthur. It's another name for sorcerer, meaning I was born with my magic. I could make items float about the room before I could crawl. That's what my mother told me.” He flushes, ears going red. “I gave mum a right hard job hiding it from everybody. She says I was bit of a terror.”

  
  


“ I can imagine so.” Arthur considers evenly. “It must have been very difficult for her, having a magical child.” His respect for Merlin's mother grows. He always knew that Hunith was a strong woman to have raised Merlin on her own with no father to speak of, but he had underestimated her fortitude.

  
  


“ It was.” Merlin waves his hand and the books settle on the floor beside them. “We managed to keep it a secret for a long time. But when Will—” He falters, breath shuttering, eyes clenching shut momentarily as he remembers his dead friend. He opens them again and looks at Arthur. “When Will found out about my magic, mum was livid. And worried. It was an accident, really. I lost control and it just...slipped out. I felled a tree and nearly killed Old Man Simmons. People in the village began to grow suspicious, and that's when mum decided that I needed to get away. That's why she decided to send me to Camelot.”

  
  


Arthur is reminded of the conversation he had had with Merlin, back when the village of Ealdor had been threatened by the raider Kanen and his men. They had been settled down for bed, lying head to foot on the dirt floor of Merlin's mother's hovel.

  
  


“ _ Why'd you leave?” Arthur had asked Merlin in a low voice as Gwen, Morgana, and Hunith slept nearby. _

  
  


“ _ Things just...changed.” Merlin had replied softly. _

  
  


“ _ How?” _

  
  


_ When Merlin didn't answer, and Arthur stuck his bare toes in his face. Merlin sputtered and flailed to get away from them. “Come on and stop trying to be interesting. Tell me.” Merlin huffed out a silent laugh. Then he quieted. _

  
  


“ _ I just didn't fit in anymore. I wanted to find somewhere that I did.” _

  
  


“ _ Had any luck?” _

  
  


“ _ I'm not sure yet.” Merlin said. _

  
  


“ Why Camelot?” Arthur, coming back to the present, asks, “Surely you knew that the only penalty for sorcery was death.”

  
  


“ There wasn't anywhere else to go. Gaius is my uncle, my mother's step-brother.” Arthur hadn't known that. “I was to help him until I found paid work. Then I saved your arse—with magic, I might add—and became your manservant.” Merlin's eyes become distant, remembering. “The first thing I saw when I came to Camelot was an execution. Thomas Collins'. It was his mother that tried to kill you at the feast, in revenge for the death of her son.” He snorts. “What a greeting that was.”

  
  


“ So let me get this straight. The first thing you saw when you came to Camelot was an execution, and yet you decided to stay.” Merlin nods, and Arthur feels the need to slap him up the backside of his head. He remembers that this is sorcerer he's dealing with at the last moment, so he just barely resists. Barely. “What kind of  _ idiot _ are you! Merlin! You could have died!” Merlin crosses his arms aggressively and narrowed his eyes. “Then you would have died, so it all worked out in the end, didn't it! And you'd have still been the arse that I met as well. That's what you've always told me.” Arthur opens his mouth to argue, but Merlin cuts him off before he spoke. “The  _ future _ you, anyway. So just be thankful that I stayed.” Arthur harrumphs and and looks away, but doesn't say anything else.

  
  


Merlin claps his hands. “Well, now that we've cleared that up, let's get back to work.” He turns back to the piles of floating books, eyes quickly flashing and causing the ones that fell to the floor to join the ones still in the air. He hums. “These should be enough to get started. Come on, then.” he says, gesturing towards a dark wood and blue silk-cushioned settee that Arthur hadn't noticed before. Merlin sets the stacks of books on the low wooden table carved to match the desk in front of it and sits, grabbing one of them and gesturing for Arthur to join him.

  
  


Arthur sits and looked at the intimidating pile. “All of these are to 'get started'?” he asks dubiously. Merlin smiles encouragingly. “Well, hopefully we find some answers in here. Or, at the very least, get some clues as to how I can come up with something new. Create a new spell, or a ritual maybe.”

  
  


Arthur raises his eyebrows. “People can do that? Create new spells?”

  
  


Merlin shakes his head. “ Not just anyone, but they have to come from somewhere, don't they?”

  
  


“ Have you done it before? Create new magic?” Arthur is still getting used to the idea that  _ Merlin _ , his idiot manservant, can perform such incogitable feats.

  
  


Merlin shrugs. “I've altered existing spells before. Combined some to create something new. Usually it's something I can already do naturally. A spell just narrows and focuses my energy, and lets me teach it to others who need the words.”

  
  


“You teach others to use magic?” It was one thing for Merlin to use magic himself,but a whole other thing for him to _spread_ it.

  
  


“ Well, yeah, of course! Their gifts need to be fostered. Magic can do so many amazing things, it'd be a shame to waste people's potential.” he says, face lighting up as he gestures excitedly. Arthur can tell that this is something Merlin is passionate about and, not wanting him to get into it, clears his throat and picks up a book. “Alright then. Let's get started, shall we?”

  
  


He opens the tome and sees that it's written in some intelligible script. “Merlin, how do you expect me to read this? It's gibberish.” he says, waving his hand over the words.

  
  


“ Oh! Forgot you don't know how to read runes. Hold on, let me...” He rifles through the piles. “No, no, maybe...no, this one's too complicated for you.” Arthur almost opens his mouth to protest then thinks better of it. Merlin continues rifle through the scattered tomes. “No, nuh-uh, hmm...this one! Here.” He hands a rather large book over to Arthur. “This one should work.”

  
  


Arthur looks at the cover of the book.  _ The Finer Workings of Trans-Dimensional Alchemy _ . He has no idea what it trans-dimensional alchemy is, but he supposes he's about to find out. “And what exactly am I looking for?” he questions.

  
  


Merlin shrugs. “Don't quite know, to be honest. Just look for anything related to portals, time shifts, energy transfers, magical transportation, stuff like that. I'll skim it later, too, but two heads are better than one, don't you think?”

  
  


Arthur grimaces, not understanding anything Merlin just said. “Sure, sure.” He settles back in the cushions and opens the book. Merlin does the same.

Several hours pass, and Merlin and Arthur are no closer to a solution to their little time travel problem. Arthur rubs his eyes.

“We're getting nowhere, Merlin.” he says, frustrated. “None of what I'm reading makes any sense!” Merlin sets his book down on the low table, sighing. 

“We've only just gotten started. Solutions don't just pop out of nowhere, especially when it's a new situation like this. Gone are the days when everything is simple and I could find all the answers in just a book or two.” He sighs, then looks around the dim room. “Oh. It's gotten dark, hasn't it? We've been at this a while.” His eyes flash gold, and small golden lights flicker around the room, first appearing like fireflies before twisting and growing to the size of apples, setting the room in a bright yet soft glow. 

To Arthur's credit, his flinch was barely visible. Merlin still noticed it anyway, and grimaces slightly. Neither of them say anything about it. Instead, they delve back into the books in front of them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pure fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuses at the end of the chapter, heh!

Not much time passes before there is a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door cracks open, and a small child with curly strawberry blonde locks rushes in, wearing nothing but a nightshirt. They bounce across the room and throw themselves into Merlin's lap, causing the warlock to drop his tome and let out an 'oof'. Arthur watches curiously. Was this Merlin's child? His _and_ Merlin's child? _He probably would have mentioned if we had a child, though_. Arthur thinks.

“Merwin!” they cry. “You weren't there for stories!” Merlin laughs, cuddling the child close to his chest and stroking their hair affectionately. “Wren, little girls need their rest. Surely you could have gone one night without me?”

“Nevew!” Wren denies fervently, shaking her head. “We needs you for stories, Merwin. You is important! We needs you!” she insists. Her small fists grip Merlin's doublet, not at all mindful of their fine quality. Merlin doesn't seem to mind, Arthur notices.

“Sorry about that, Merlin,” says a voice from the doorway. The door opens a bit more, and a tall, slim figure steps through. Merlin smiles at them, shaking his head. “It's no worry, Altha. I got so caught up in my work that the time slipped past me.”

Recognition flows through the king. This was Altha, the little thief that had recently—in his time, at least—been taken into the castle, along with a dozen other children. Altha wears a long white tunic and fitted navy trousers, with an embroidered grass green robe draped over their shoulders. Their face is clear and pale, like that of a courtier, and their once-ratty hair falls like a dark blonde waterfall down their back. Altha holds themself with casual poise, and Arthur wonders how long it's been for such a transformation to have taken place.

Altha notices Arthur's attention on them and blows slightly, a small, genuine smile lighting on their face. “Sire, we had not expected you back so soon. At least not for a fortnight. Did something happen to bring you back ahead of schedule?”

Arthur, not knowing what his future self is supposed to be doing, awkwardly laughs. “I don't—that is to say...”

“He's here for a reason, Altha,” says Merlin, looking up from playing with Wren. “I'll explain later. Are all the others in bed already, or should I come down?” he asks, changing the subject.

Altha nods, accepting Merlin's explanation for the time being, though they still take a long look at Arthur quizzically, head tilted, as though there is something they aren't quite understanding. “Most are abed, my lord, but I'm certain the ones still up would appreciate your presence.”

Merlin sighs and stands, taking Wren up with him in his arms, and she wrap her little arms and legs around his shoulders and hips naturally. “Now's a good a time as any to finish up for the night. I don't think our research was making much progress anyhow.” He glances at Arthur. “Care to accompany us, Arthur? You haven't been down to the children's wing in a while.” Despite having no idea what Merlin is talking about, Arthur nods firmly, putting down the tome he was barely managing to read, and follows him to the door, Altha leading the way.

Wren fills up the silence, chatting about what she and the other children had done that day. Her stories about learning about herbs in the gardens and sword practice were only interrupted by Merlin's exclamations of “Really?”, “And what happened next?”, “Incredible!” and various sounds of assent and wonder. Arthur watched their interaction, wondering if they—the future iterations of Merlin and himself—had a child, an heir. He couldn't help the thought that Merlin would be well suited to parenthood.

They follow Altha down the halls to the East Wing of the castle which, as far as Arthur had known, was used to house guests in times of celebration like tournaments and holidays. As they enter the wing, Arthur can see that there have been renovations. A few walls that had enclosed private chambers have been opened, revealing what seems to be a large common room, dining room, and play area. Some children's toys lay scattered about, though most of them are in baskets that line the walls. There are desks by the windows for study, and bookshelves interspersed in the alcoves, with cushions and blankets clearly placed for casual reading.

Wren's chatter had slowed down to soft murmurs as she tired, resting her head on Merlin's shoulder. When they were all a little past the open areas, Altha stopped at a door. They opened it, revealing a large chamber that had clearly been multiple chambers that had been combined, with parts of the walls taken down. There were even fireplaces throughout the room, hinting that there had once been full walls there. The room itself is filled with beds, some small and some large. Most of them had two or three children in them, curled together in sleep. There were small lights, barely larger than fireflies, floating throughout the room as if on a soft breeze, softly glowing in warm, shifting colors.

When the door had opened, several of the children shifted, and a few sat up. Excited chattering began as they realized who accompanied Altha. Several voices call out for Merlin. To Arthur's surprise, a few called out for him as well. He smiles in what he hopes is an open and friendly manner, and waves at the children. One girl grins widely and waves back at him vigorously enough that the child sleeping next to her snuffles a bit before settling again.

“Good evening, everyone,” says Merlin in a loud whisper, so as not to disturb those who had found their slumber. “I'm sorry I missed stories tonight. But I brought Arthur, so maybe you can forgive me, just this once?” There were small noises of agreement throughout the room, with just a few whines of complaint.

Arthur had many questions about the children. Were there really so many orphans in Camelot? And why were they all in one room, rather in separate chambers? He assumed he was supposed to know the answers to these questions, so he kept silent as he watched Merlin lay a sleepy Wren in one of the nearby beds. Merlin tucked the child under the covers and brushed her hair back as she sighed into her pillow. He began to straighten when she turned back over, reaching her arms out. Merlin smiles tenderly as he leans down again to give her a hug, then kisses her softly on the head.

The other children, having seen this, began to call for hugs and kisses as well. Merlin sighed as if put-upon, then laughed lightly and began to make his way around the room, joined by Altha. Arthur leans in the doorway and watches how natural Merlin is with the children. If he needed any proof that sorcery does not make one evil, then this scene would be evidence enough.

Arthur is pulled out of his observations by a tug on his tunic sleeve. He looks down to see a small boy, about waist height, looking up at him. The child has light brown skin and shiny bronze curls, with the dusting of freckles across his nose just barely visible in the dim magical light. “Hello, your majesty,” he says tentatively, smiling shyly up at Arthur. Arthur smiles just as shyly back. _How does one interact with children?_ he wonders, slightly alarmed at his predicament. “Hi,” he says, for lack of anything else. He almost asks for the boy's name, but then thinks better of it. That is probably something he is supposed to know. 

“Err...would you like me to put you to bed?” he ventures. This is apparently the correct thing to say, for the boy's face lights up and he nods enthusiastically. 

A little hand takes Arthur's and pulls him across the room towards a bed that already has two other children sleeping in it. He lifts the boy up onto the bed and pulls the covers over him, then flounders. Large hazel eyes blink up expectantly at him, not offering any hints as to what to do next. Merlin had hugged and kissed them, but that's not something he had ever done before. Is that something he—his future self—does now?

“Uhm,” he flounders, “how do you like to be put to bed?” he asks the boy. “The special way,” answers the boy decisively. Arthur panics inwardly. If there was a special way to put children to bed, no one had ever shown him. “Can you show me? I seem to be out of practice, and I may have forgotten how.” 

“Okay. So my name is Vaughn. That's important.” Arthur nods solemnly, relieved had hadn't 'forgotten'. “First you hold my hands.” He takes both of Arthur's hands in his own. “Then you say, 'It's time for bed, Vaughn, so you can grow big and strong and smart.'” 

Vaughn turns his face up to Arthur, so Arthur repeats softly, “It's time for bed, Vaughn, so you can grow big and strong and smart.” Vaughn nods his approval. “Then it's time for kisses. One on each cheek.” Arthur leans over and gives Vaughn a kiss on each cheek. “Then you stroke my hair and say, 'Sweet dreams, Vaughn. Have a good rest.', and give me a kiss on the forehead.”

Arthur, carefully following instruction, strokes Vaughn's hair. It's soft, like that of a puppy's fur. The boy's lids start to close and he hums in contentment. “Sweet dreams, Vaughn. Have a good rest.” He kisses the boy's forehead. Before pulling back, he asks in a whisper, “How did I do?”

Without opening his eyes, Vaughn smiles and says decisively, “Real good. You get to stay king.” Arthur chuckles, tucks Vaughn fully under the covers, and straightens. Turning, he finds Merlin by the door, observing him with a soft smile on his face. Arthur reddens as he finds himself feeling caught out, as if he's done something to be embarrassed about that he needs to make up for by being extra manly. Since a children's nursery isn't somewhere to swing a sword, he just glares at Merlin, whose smile widens into a familiar goofy grin.

“Not a word!” hisses Arthur.

“No words, got it,” confirms Merlin with a nod, trying but failing to keep a straight face. “I'm not going to say anything. Nothing at all. Not a peep.”

The door opens then, and a servant enters with a basket of what seems to be knitting. She curtsies to both Arthur and Merlin, and nods to Altha, who has now joined them, before taking a seat next to one of the beds. Arthur surmises that she must be the night nurse for the children. This seems to be their cue, and Merlin holds the still-open door for Arthur and Altha to exit.

Once in the hall, Merlin turns to Altha. “Thanks for coming to get me, Altha. That was a nice ending to a long day.” Altha smiles and nods. “The children certainly have a certain way of brightening one's day don't they?” Arthur couldn't help but silently agree.

“Now, Altha,” Merlin says, “If you wouldn't mind meeting with Arthur and I sometime tomorrow when you have the chance, I can fill you in on the...er, situation. Nothing bad!” He says at Altha's look of concern. “At least, nothing to worry about quite yet. Just, when you have the time, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Agrees Altha. “If that will be all, have a good night, my lords.” Altha bows and goes into the next door down the hall, presumably their chambers, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hi! Been gone a while. I got sober! It threw me for a loop and I couldn't focus on reading, let alone writing. But I'm doing much better now, so I started writing for real about a week ago. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, I know it wasn't too long. I have no set schedule for updates, but I've already started the next chapter so I'm hoping at least one chapter every one to two weeks or so, since I'm also working on some other stuff.
> 
> Be well, all!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are hugs and comments are love!


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